


Who wants to live forever (not all can)

by KRETCHboi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Queen (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling - hinted at (Good Omens), Mild Language, Minor Original Character(s), Other, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KRETCHboi/pseuds/KRETCHboi
Summary: Not that he admits it to Hell, but the demon Crowley likes rock music. So when in 1974, a rising rock band arrives for a recording session for the BBC (where he coincidentally has an office) he jumps at the chance to meet them.He then became aquintances with the band-legend Queen; watched rock history with his own eyes - all while not knowing the lead singers fate.Disclaimer: I don't own Good Omens (no suprise) and the band Queen. This is mere fanfiction.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Killer Queen

**Author's Note:**

> English isn't my first language, so sorry for any grammatical errors and mistakes on my part.  
> Also not beta-read. And not completely accurate to the history of Queen.  
> (Killer queen): https://youtu.be/2ZBtPf7FOoM

The demon Crowley, altough not admitting it, really enjoyed those new music styles the twentieth century provided. He liked humanity's music in general - well not all, he was naturally biased against any religous piece, and could literally fall asleep at a lengthy symphony - but all the new types, they were like a fresh breath of air after a half-way suffocation. His personal favorite was rock'n'roll, with the catchy eletric guitars and thankfully no saxophones - he loathed saxophones with all his demonic soul.1So, finally, after the World Wars ended, he got himself an office at the BBC recording station (not that he actually earned it - being a demon had it's perks). He didn't usually go in, just sometimes transported himself through the wired telephone to scare his ,,co-workers''. He became infamous as the ,,Mysterious Mr. Crowley" who nobody questioned why was there, nobody knew anything about, and mainly - nobody opposed2. Today, they said they have a rock band called Queen recording, and Crowley, after doing his research (listenig to all the bands songs) could say was he intrigued. He might get some fun out this - and some quality music too.

Freddie Mercury (also known as Farrokh Bulsara) was excited, to say the least. Finally, after many complications and problems in the band Queen's first three years, their work finally gained attention, Trident - the studio they signed contract with - managed to get them a recording with BBC to the radio program ,,Sounds of the Seventies" on Radio One and and they made it for the BBC ,,Top of the Pops" television program. They already recorded the video - it made Freddie a little nervous with all the cameras - so they were let into a lounge until the end news of the session.   
"Now that was something" said Freddie as he unelegantly sat down in one of the couches in the room. It was a simple lounge, with three couches, a sofa and a coffee table wich beared a carafe of cold water, six glasses and an assortment of biscuits. He took one from the plate.  
"Second that" said the drummer, Roger Taylor as he occupied the place next to the lead singer. "But I say we rocked it"  
"That we did" said Brian May, the guitarist as he poured himself a glass of water and sat down on the sofa. "Now we only need the head's opinion"   
The next ten minutes or so were spended with them telling jokes and just talking - until the door opened up and an unfamiliar figure stepped in.

* * *

Rose Smith, a perfectly average office worker of the BBC, could say it was an uneventful day. She came to work as usual (7:30, not a second late) and sat in her cubicle tiping away in the half-dead computer. At 10:30 she had her brunch break wich she gossiped away (like that her co-worker Lily has a crush on some higher-up, and Thomas from two rows left wrecked his computer and is now paying the dept for it). So when Alissa, who just went for her lunch, came running back, Rose knew something happened.   
"Code Mister, people! Repeat, Code Mister!" shouted Alissa to the office at large, then the news spreaded like wildfire in the cubicles, workers getting up and hurrying to the exit regardless breaks or the like. Rose also stood up and made her way towards her co-worker.  
Code Mister stood for Mr. A. J. Crowley - the whole BBCs most infamous and reserved official (they didn't even know his first name) - who never left his office3Nobody ever saw him, and who dared to knock on his door payed with his job. These codes were for the rare occasions he did leave, when the whole office would discreetly watch4. They hurried down the corridors, sopping a little at the matte black door wich held the shiny silver ,,Mr. A. J. Crowley, Manager" plaque. The whole office watched the redheaded man as he walked down the corridor uncaring and confident, and stepped into a minor lounge.  
They officially had the gossip of the month. 

* * *

Crowley had a good day, to say the least. Hell hadn't pestered him since a week, there were no leafspots on his plants5 and he got a brand new casette player in his Bentley. So he went to ,,work" and waited for the band Queen to end recording and go to a lounge.  
When he stepped in, the four persons sitting there looked up from their chatting instantly. Crowley let himself make a little, victorious smirk. On paper, he wanted to tempt for Hell, but in reality he just wanted to enjoy the music and possible aquintaceship of these four young men.  
"Anthony J. Crowley, Manager. Pleased to make your aquintance" he said to the group, who in turn introduced themselves also.   
"Are you here with the news of the recording?" asked the bass guitarist, John Deacon.  
"Oh no, those men still haven't finished. I'm here with some more - hmm, let's say - _private_ matters" Crowley said as he took the last couch, and discreetly miracled himself a wineglass and a full bottle to the coffee table. The band members blinked - wine wasn't offered as a refreshment on the plate.  
"And those are?" asked Roger, just a hint of wearyness in him.  
"We are already signed with Trident" Brian added, looking at the redhaired, black-clad man trying to figure Crowley's intentions out.  
"Well, my offer doesn't deal with all the fancy papers n' stuff" said the demon, sipping his wine "Do you want wine by the way, it's the best - So I would offer a financial backing"  
"In exchange of what?"  
"Well, nothing much - I really enjoy the music you've made, and I want to see more of it - I also have the money to spare so it won't hurt me."  
"Nothing other?" Freddie cut in.  
"Not if you want some more" Crowley hummed above his glass.  
"Can we talk about it alone?" Brian asked, and the other nodded at his question.  
"Sure" was the only answer "And you can have some wine too" The four looked down and suddenly, there were enough glasses for them. They only blinked in suprise. When they looked back, Crowley already left.

Crowley stood next to the door, absentmindedly leaning against the wall and still sipping his wine. He looked at the not-so-far end of the corridor, noticing a mass of people intently watching him. He chuckled a little, then looked at the workers above the rim of his sunglasses, snakelike yellow eyes glinting.  
"I would go back to work if I were you" 

"So" John began "What do you guys think of this?"  
"Well, it might be just scam or a prank" said Freddie, who already poured himself a glass of wine "But if not, we might win more than this guy. I say now or never to this"  
"Well, Fred said right - Let's just try it" Brian mused "But if it's truly a scam, then in case we require a backtrack route"  
"Okay, then we say yes and make it so that we could always end the deal" Roger nodded.  
"But I'll say it - this guys hiding something so we need to be careful, okay?" that was the final agreement. And that exactly was the moment Crowley stepped back.  
"So?" he asked filling his glass up again.   
"We take the deal" Roger began "But we want to have a backtrack in case"  
"Okay, you got it - I swear on my 1933 Bentley car" Crowley sat down in the empty couch "You can call off the deal anytime"  
"Why your car?" Brian asked.  
"People in general don't value my word or life" said the demon after a long gulp of wine. "You can ask questions now, boys"  
"Well - why did you choose us?" asked John.  
"I like your music. Catchy guitars, great vocals and songs, and with Killer Queen, the irony that parents let their kids listen to it when it's about a high-class prostitute - and the best! No saxophone! I loathe that lot, saxophones" Crowley flashed a grin at the band.  
"Age?"  
"Around forty" shrugged the demon. "But let's just toast to the beginning of this aquintanceship!"  
They talked more, and did they know, it was the beginning of a true friendship.

Notes:

    1. Crowley even made countless attempts to kill of it's inventor - as you see, he did not succeed. 
      1. Poor Mariah White did, the girl - she ended up as a homeless, and despite her degree in economics, she couldn't find a job.
        1. Some actually thought he was with the underground, or a soviet spy.
          1. Crowley actually knew what they were doing - instead he pretended to not notice, and laughed behind his 'co-workers' backs
            1. Can be also read as: He screamed at them all day yesterday, so today they are all nice




	2. '39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A suprising offer, and a guilty deed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English isn't my first language, so sorry for any grammatical errors and mistakes on my part.  
> Also not beta-read. And not completely accurate to the history of Queen.
> 
> ('39): https://youtu.be/kE8kGMfXaFU

Crowley lazily stretched, sitting on his throne-like chair, nursing a glass of wine. Across him, the members of the band Queen sat in tastefully arranged, black faux-leather couches (which weren’t there the day previous). They each had a glass too – though in smaller amount – and the atmosphere was light, filled with teasing and chatter. It was two months after Crowley met the four, and he could say he was quite glad with the development of his friendship1 with the band. After the first little distrustful looks and glances sent his way, he was happy to see as he slowly, but surely made himself into good graces of Queen.

This meeting was planned; he followed his part seamlessly. He picked the four up at 4 o’clock with his Bentley. They were amazed by the vintage car – especially Roger, who began bombarding the demon with questions about the automobile.

”This IS a ’33?” the answer to the blonde was only a nod ”How did you get it?”

”My father2 left it for me in his inheritance; she was a fresh car when he bought her back in ’33. I love this beauty with all my heart.” the drummer continued babbling about automobiles, Crowley sometimes adding his opinion to the conversation.

When the four saw his flat, they were amazed. Even after _Sheer Heart Attack_ being a hit in the UK and US, the Queen members still didn’t live in the luxury they deserved. By the contract, Trident managed the entire incoming budget – leaving them only a 60 pound weekly pay; so they had to live in one-room flats and have the life of a struggling rock band. So seeing the spacious, minimalistic flat left them in awe.

”Coats on the hanger, left side” Crowley noted as he nonchalantly walked into the lounge. ”Can give you a little tour if you like”

”Soooooooo” John began ”What’s with the plants?” everyone except the bassist chuckled a little, knowing the youngest member didn’t hold his alcohol good.

”Apparently they’re therapeutic” was all Crowley said, shrugging. ”Some chit said on the radio, that talking to plants can help – not that it does very much” and so the topic dropped.

”And you lads writing any songs lately?” the demon asked, pouring himself another glass of the Cabernet Sauvignon.

”Been having ideas” Brian commented, the other three expressing their agreement ”Although, not so much on the subject, but we’re asking you; would you like to accompany us when we give concerts? We also have a tour in Europe, but on the first of February we will fly to the States. We would appreciate your company.”

Crowley almost choked on his red wine. It was a very unusual invitation.

”Well, if I clear some things up with an acquaintance of mine before it, then yes”

He was surprised - when they said he was welcome to join them – but pleased about it nonetheless. So when the four left, he immediately called Aziraphale (only because of the Arrangement, of course).

_”Excuse me, the bookshop’s currently closed –”_

”It’s me, Angel.” Crowley interrupted.

_”Oh- Crowley, what a pleasant surprise!”_ the angel’s voice immediately took a kind tone. _”What can I_ _thank this call for?”_

”Well, my office wants me away for some stuff in the States” Crowley lied, Aziraphale didn’t need to know about his friendship with Queen ”Will be gone in next year’s February, stay there until May.”

_”Very well then. So may I ask if you accept a dinner invitation?”_

”Maybe some other time, Angel. Ciao” Crowley put the phone down.

* * *

The day of 1th February was a cold day. Crowley took a cab to Heathrow, as he didn’t want to leave his Bentley in the airport parking lot. It was a calm ride, not much traffic, the melody of an English folksong from the radio (not particularly his taste, but great for this situation) and the quietness of the driver. Crowley should have realised it was too calm, but he didn’t until an all-too-familiar drawl took over the folksong.

_”Demon Crowley, you’re travelling to the States. While there you must tempt the man named James Ruppert into murdering his mother, brother, sister-in-law, his nieces and nephews.”_ Of course, it was Hastur – these were the times Crowley regretted recommending radio communication to Hell.

„Yes, Duke Hastur” he droned – thankfully the driver was zoning out from the occult influence.

_”Don’t be more of a disappointment.”_ and the radio set back to normal. Crowley groaned in frustration.

He met the band and their managers in the airport lobby, with them still not having given in the check-in bags. While they all waited in the line, the others made small talk.

”Anthony darling, I must ask you” Freddie began ”Why do you always wear sunglasses, even indoors?”

”I have a rare eye condition” was Crowley’s well-practiced lie ”Some light-sensitivity, it runs in the family.” and so they waited more, chatting. Crowley tapped his feet in a fast rhythm, letting out an unsatisfied sigh. He was quite irritated with the queue. A minor miracle soon took care of that - and after, the baggage give-in ran smoothly. So they all went to the cabin bag controls. The staff checked their luggage and passports3. Crowley went last.

"Sir, please take off your sunglasses" asked the personnel. The demon huffed but complied anyway, knowing that opposing would cost him more time and irritation. The man went pale at the sight of his snake-like eyes.

" _You_ _sssssaw_ _nothing_ _unusssual_." was only Crowley's answer, his voice carrying a hint of a miracle. The man's face blanked, his eyes acquiring a milky sheen. The demon quickly put his sunglasses back and followed the others to where they waited at the other side of the gate.

They still had a good hour until the plane departed, so they sat in the spacious lobby, waiting for the gate to open. Freddie (dragging Roger with him) almost immediately ran to look at all the overpriced clothing that was in the row of boutiques, and Brian made his way to the bookstores, intending to browse in their collection of science papers. They of course knew they can't buy a thing with all the outrageously expensive ware. John simply took a seat and began reading, Crowley sitting next to him, taking a newspaper out of nowhere. It was rather bland - nothing interesting other than politicians backstabbing each other, and Crowley (who literally was there at THE backstabbing4) had enough of that. So he also began a search for the science papers. He leisurely strolled to the stand, and began looking through the booklets. He collected a handful of National Geographic, in themes of astronomy and astrophysics. The demon also took a Shakespeare play collection - all for some old-fashioned fun. He slammed the wares on the cashier desk, startling the seller. The girl meekly scanned the objects, and quietly told him the price. Crowley just left her with 100 pounds, not caring about the miracled - although completely valid - money. He made his way back to the others, took a seat. He discreetly miracled himself a black, bold fountain pen (just for style) and began reading the first article about the solar system's dwarf planets. He smirked as he crossed out incorrect data and facts, writing the right ones on the side5. As the demon corrected a number in Ceres’ mass (who knew a 6 instead of 7 could make that difference) and wrote down an army of other facts, Brian questioned him.

"Why do you cross out facts in the paper?"

"They're incorrect" was Crowley's answer.

"How?"

"Well, data mostly" the redhead shrugged "But it says Ceres’ not the smallest dwarf planets in the solar system - that's wrong of course. And no mention of exoplanets. Honestly disappointed." Crowley continued the correcting, not noticing Brian's surprised, but curious expression. A half hour passed like that.

"To the passengers of the plane from London to New York City, the Gate 13 is open. Have a good flight" announced a female voice through the speakers. That was their cue - everyone took their bags and made their way to the gate. The controller checked the visas, passports and tickets, and they were directed towards the plane. It was organized typically – with synthetic fabric covering the seats, which were six a row, the middle walkway separating them. On the back of each seat was a pull-down plate, and fortunately, a pouf was installed under the seats so they could make a semi-bed. After the fake-smiling stewardess checked the tickets (again) Crowley looked for his seat. It was 6A, thankfully next to the window. He plopped down and continued correcting and taking out another paper – this time about the black holes and space-time theories. And as he was making a study sketch of a black hole, the seat next to him was taken. He looked at the one who sat, and saw Brian.

”It’s my place here” the curly haired man began a tad awkwardly ”Sadly they weren’t able to get us all neighbouring seats, the others are somewhere in the back.” Crowley just hummed, adding some notes to the sketch. The guitarist looked at his work, interested.

”Can I read the corrected one?” Brian asked, and the demon simply just gave it to him. The young man - who studied astrophysics, and had a Bachelor’s Degree in it – became awed at all the additions of data, facts, and drawings the demon made in the booklet. ”This is all fantastic! How do you know all of this?”

”Always had the knack for astronomy” Crowley shrugged.

”Why don’t you send it to the research stations? It could be a colossal breakthrough”

”Knowing humans, in the next century, they sure will figure lot of this out” was only the redhead’s answer. They succumbed into a comfortable silence; Brian taking out his notebook as Crowley corrected another paper.

”This is so wrong, it’s not even funny anymore” the demon mumbled unpleased, making the guitarist look up from his notebook, sending Crowley a silent question.

”They got a bunch of stuff wrong in time dilation” he grumbled ”Misinformation in the gravity rate, and the space-time also! You can clearly see they don’t know what they say” and so he began heatedly pointing out all the flaws, and wildly gesturing along with it.

”See that you’re pissed about it” Brian smiled a little mischievously.

„But I’m making a POINT.” Crowley replied ”And they even got the examples wrong. Instead of talking about some sci-fi light-speed capsule, they should make a more imaginable scenario: like some astronauts go on an expedition, and as they travel with the speed of light, there’s the time dilation, making it for them only one year, while on Earth a century has passed. I mean Einstein made the theory, National Geographic needs to do their research.” Brian only blinked at the end of the demon’s rant, suddenly looking thoughtful.

”Now, that is an interesting concept – you gave me an idea” Said Brian, quickly skimming through his notebook, stopping at a page which was filled with some guitar accords. The brunette began scribbling away, seemingly in a creative haze. He was writing furiously, making lines, accords, tunes and writing notes on the margin. It was a fast progress, until Brian stopped writing, an uncertain look crossing his face.

”Try a 12-string guitar” said Crowley, without looking up from his paper. ”And double bass”

Brian gaped at the demon, surprised at his nonchalant comment. He looked down to the page again.

”You could also make it in D key” the redhead suggested, still correcting his booklet. Brian only blinked slowly at Crowley.

”You’re definitely a genius.” was all the guitarist muttered, taking the demons suggestions. The next three hours were spent like that, in a comfortable silence. It was then, that Brian finished writing, and decided to show Crowley the fresh song.

”Quite good, I say” Crowley hummed appreciatively ”Has a very nice vibe. What if you write the year ’39? It won’t specify the century and has a nice little hint to a planet.” He let Brian follow through with his thinking, sending the brunette a mischievous smirk.

”A planet… in astronomical units?” the young man asked, searching clues to figure out the riddle. At Crowley’s nod, Brian began thinking more of it. It was only a three seconds after he realized, and his face took a delighted look.

”Mercury. That’s the planet.” Then Brian took his notebook back and wrote _’39_ at the top of the page ”Thank you, Anthony. I appreciate the help.”

In reality, it was amusing how the young man used the two sentences that no-one would intentionally say to a demon: ’Thank you’ and ’I appreciate the help’. So when Crowley bristled a little at this, it was only his natural reaction – that he hoped that Brian won’t notice (which the brunette actually did).

It was finally the end of the eight-and-a-half hour flight, and so they when they picked up their baggage they caught two cabs to their hotel for the night. It was in a rather quiet neighbourhood, a beige building called ’The Eden’. The balconies were decorated with plants, and the door was carved with intricate design. Crowley chuckled at the little inside joke. The band and their crew decided to have a tour of the city – when they asked him, Crowley declined; he needed to look up on his mission from Hell, mainly on this James Ruppert person.

The next morning their van arrived, and they drove to Columbus, Ohio, where Queen’s first concert in the States would be. The band members, to sate their boredom, began singing in the second hour of the drive, Brian taking out his acoustic guitar. This was how the scene escalated here.

”Tony dear, you should sing with us” it was Freddie who requested him. Crowley just shrugged.

”And what? Any suggestions?” was only his question.

”Something from us? The song ’Jesus’ maybe?” John offered.

Crowley barked out a laugh ”Now THAT would be ironic. Maybe another?”

”Let him have a go at the most difficult one!” Roger piped in, smirking.

”I’ll take Liar, if no problem” Crowley only smirked. Brian began the opening accords, which without the electric guitar gave a calmer tone to the song.

”I have sinned, dear Father; Father, I have sinned” the demon began singing, his voice like silk. There was a main reason why, as a demon, he still kept a beautiful singing voice: as he once was an angel too, he was of the ’same stock’ in a way. Thankfully, his voice wasn’t ruined much– as swallowing liquid, burning sulphur is known not to be kind to the throat (his luck was only that he didn’t scream that much and less sulphur got to his throat). The four young men were surprised, they weren’t expecting their senior friend’s voice to be like that.

” Try and help me, Father; won’t you let me in?” Crowley continued.

”LIAR!” screamed the four as the chorus. ”Oh, nobody believes me” the demon carried on.

”LIAR!”

And after that they made Crowley sing everything from The Beatles to opera (Freddie’s request – Crowley himself wasn’t particularly a big fan of _The Magic Flute_ ).

When they finally arrived at Columbus, Ohio – the place of their first concert, all the crew were bone tired, and when they finally found their worn-down hotel, it was a curfew for them (for even Crowley too – he had to keep up appearances, and the sleep was preferable now).

The next days were spent with Queen and their support band rehearsing, Crowley often watching from the backstage. The demon also spent tedious work researching this James Ruppert person, which led to him currently sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Columbus Police Station Archives, skimming through the yellowed files of so many people. He finally found the file on the bottommost shelf at the letter R, pulling out the thin folder, with _Ruppert, James Urban_ printed on it. He opened the file, and skimmed through the basic personal data of the man. He wrote the information out on a scrap of paper he quickly miracled. Address, age, and family were the main things he wrote down. Then he began looking into his brother and mother – neither had criminal records, but he found out that Leonard Jr. lead a successful life with big family and a great job, while James still lived with his widowed mother Charity in the city of Hamilton. He carefully put back the folders to their place, and walked out of the building, unnoticed.

Getting into the Hospital Archives was harder, as, unlike the police station the staff wasn’t so absent there. Crowley of course followed through his plan easily, looking at all the records of Ruppert, and deciding that a letter written by a made-up psychiatrist identity of his (Dr. Judas Cowwley, who has gotten his Master’s and doctorate both in Medicine and Psychological and Behavioural Sciences at Cambridge University, and is on a project researching the psyche of the everyday American – currently in Ohio Hospital For Psychiatry, Columbus) would get the first half of the job done. And so, Dr. Cowwley was in the Hospital – no one noticing anything weird about it – and Crowley got to writing a formal letter for James Ruppert.

And that led to his current situation; sitting in a couch in Freddie’s and John’s room balancing a small typewriter in his lap, while the band lay on the floor, playing Scrabble. The room was small, with a little window, beige wallpapers, and two old little beds pushed up against the opposite walls.

Crowley groaned irritated. The band looked up at him, questioning.

”What’s the matter, Tony dear?” Freddie asked.

„Can’t write formal letters” the demon muttered ”Especially not for middle aged American men with depression about a random psychiatric session.”

”That we don’t ask why” Roger stage-whispered to John, who snickered a little, assembling the word ’potential’ on the Scrabble board.

And so, with Brian’s and John’s help, Crowley finally finished it.

_Dear Mr. Ruppert,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you can be a partaker of the EAP (Everyday American Psyche) study program, which researches the satisfaction and psychological health of the US citizens. The program includes on 3 hour long session with one of our top psychiatrists, free of charge. If you take this opportunity, please bring your papers, and documents about any health or other complications. The session will take place on the 5th of February, at 2 PM Eastern Time in the Ohio Hospital For_ _Psychiatry, Columbus._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Dr. J. Cowwley_

It was rather short, but Crowley was too tired to care about that. So he just quickly miracled it there for Ruppert, laying a little compulsion on it (he didn’t want his plan to fail, of course). He sighed, quietly listening to Freddie exclaiming ”Bismillah IS a word Roger dear, you’re just too stupid to know it!”

On the 5th of February, Queen began rehearsing at 10 AM. Crowley watched them, gave advices, and, as a joke, sang the hellish high notes in the song _In the lap of the gods._ And when he told the four that he would be occupied elsewhere, they were shocked.

“What do you mean you have other programs?” Roger asked, his voice almost hitting his famous falsetto in shock.

“Even though I’m here, I still work at the BBC – they told me to do some shit for them in the city. Not that big job, but still. It’ll take a good four hours.”

And so, this led to the predicament Crowley was in now; Sitting in a chair behind a thin desk, with two couches across him, waiting for James Ruppert to arrive. The door opened, and Crowley looked up through his medical-style sunglasses, rising from his seat, and walking to the persons stepping in, plastering a fake smile on his face.

“Good day, ma’am, sir, I presume you are Missus Charity and Mr. James” he shook the man’s hand and planted a little kiss above the woman’s wrist “Please take a seat”

The two humans sat down, and Crowley began his nice-acting talk.

“I’m Dr. Judas Cowwley – and as you have been informed, this is a part of the EAP program. We are currently researching the psychological health of the everyday American citizen – all the results will be filed into an average anonymously, and with that, we hope we can better the psychological healthcare in the United States.” at the end of the demon’s mini-speech, the woman looked like she sucked on lemon.

“If you’re all about American health, why are you British?” Charity Ruppert asked sourly. Crowley only let out an irritated sigh – the woman clearly didn’t live up to her name.

“There’s a medical partnership between the US and UK – there are American doctors across the pond too. But, now, I would like to begin the session with Mr. James – Would you excuse us and wait outside in the lobby, ma’am?” Mrs. Ruppert only spluttered, then begrudgingly walked out of the room. James only eased his too-straight posture – slumping back in the couch.

“Okay” Crowley began smirking a little “That was uncomfortable. Is she like that all the time?” he opened up the file about Ruppert, looking the man directly in the eyes (All the while placing a compulsory miracle on the human).

“Yes.” James muttered timidly “She hates me even more since I’ve dropped out of college. No less after I failed to be a draftsman, you see. Said she always wanted a daughter instead of me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that” the demon said simply “May I ask about your other family? Your file said you have a brother.” at that, Ruppert’s face set into an ugly scowl.

“You could rat me out” the man growled.

“My doctoral vow still holds me. I wouldn’t. And what would it count in a line of anonym?” that was the final nudge Ruppert needed to begin his story. Crowley was glad his sunglasses hid the triumphant glint in his eye as the human began rambling.

Temptation was never an easy business. It took precision, skill and cunning. Crowley was unlucky enough to be good at it – even when Eve herself was a rather easy job.

First and foremost, he needed established eye contact (with the eye being the window to the soul, and all that). Second, the victim had to be actively thinking about the core thought the demon would build the tempting upon. It was the third step that was the most difficult – Crowley would have to manipulate the mind of the human. Now, don’t think of this as a sci-fi or fantasy like mind reading – it was more tiring with a less chance of success. What may be classified as ‘mind reading’ was actually a very subtle form of demonic possession: the occult took the active base thought, and began really slowly and precisely building the ideas upon it. If Crowley was even a millisecond early or late, the doubt and idea wouldn’t catch ground. If it was too forceful, the human’s mind would break – as the possession was too fragile to channel too much power. And, while he needs to watch for all this shit, he needs to also be aware of the situation and keep the conversation at the temptation topic. It was like trying to park backwards with a car, while someone’s chatting your ear off.

And so, Crowley asked Ruppert more about his family, while strengthening the man’s malice against them. Ruppert was rather easy – his mind was brittle and poorly constructed with a deep tinge of mental illnesses underlying it. His passion and hate for the topic made Crowley’s job the more easier – and he was not proud to say, but after two hours of relentless, tiring and delicate manipulating, temptation was strong enough to catch ground, and eat Ruppert’s weak determination away, without Crowley having to stay and feed it. And so, the session ended; Ruppert left with slightly high hopes and Crowley, after miracling the doctor outfit back to his original button-up and bell-bottoms, made his way to the nearest store selling some cheap liquor.

As a demon, he really shouldn’t be guilty about this – but since when did he fit in the norm? If he was too curious as an angel, why not be guilty for his sins as a demon? Those were Crowley’s musings as he bought all the shitty alcohol the store had. He made his way back to their hotel; not bothering to tell any of the roadies – now, all he wants is some good old alcohol poisoning.

* * *

Crowley was already in with three bottles of the crappiest vodka, one of low-grade tequila and one of gin. He currently nursed a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey, spread out on the single old couch in his room. Now, Crowley was even more thankful that he didn’t share the room with anybody – as currently, he had his wings in the physical reality, midnight-black wings fanning out behind him above the back of the couch, shoving off an impressive wingspan, even bigger than the average angel’s. Crowley of course paid no mind to the onyx feathers reminding him of his Fall; as he currently was trying to drink the weight of Noah’s Ark in alcohol, all the while cursing his life, Heaven, Hell, saxophones – anything that came on his mind. Crowley took another big gulp of the whiskey, the too-burning flavour scorching down his throat when he loudly proclaimed turning his head up to the ceiling:

“Now, you KNOW what, you ALlMighTY Mother?! This is what you wanted? Your beloved creations destroying themselves? You letting me tempt a man into homicide?!” he took a too-long gulp of his drink, thankful for his non-existent gag reflex “Why not just come down in your entire holy wrath and SMITE this, ME, and all the bastards?? YOU have the power, why wait for fuckin’ Armageddon?!”

And literally, that was the cue – the door opened up.

“Tony darling, I heard shouting, are you oka- WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK?!” Freddie began, worried tone changing midway to a banshee-like scream.

Crowley gulped.

Shit.

Notes:

  1. Of course, if anyone asked him, Crowley denied the 'friendship'
  2. Read: Crowley himself
  3. May I add, Crowley simply miracled a passport.
  4. Crowley loathes Julius with all his demonic soul - almost as much as saxophones - so he cheered the biggest of them all. 
  5. As Crowley was behind the creation of the big part of the cosmos, he automatically just _knew._



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. I'm open to any feedback or constructive criticism. :)

**Author's Note:**

> (I personally don't have a hate towards saxophones, but it's inventor, Adolph Sax had too many near fatal accidents for it to be coincidence)  
> And also sorry for any mistake at the footnotes, it's my first work on AO3.  
> I'm open to any feedback or constructive criticism.


End file.
